


latch on your lips, tangy and sweet

by hibouxx



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Background Relationships, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Quiet love, Slice of Life, commitment issues, dotae is brief, yujae is background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28882959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hibouxx/pseuds/hibouxx
Summary: It’s all the small, inconsequential things, but they scare Johnny all the same. It’s kind of stupid, he thinks, to be afraid of Doyoung of all people.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Nakamoto Yuta, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Nakamoto Yuta/Original Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 105





	latch on your lips, tangy and sweet

**Author's Note:**

> >my first time writing Johndo even though i've adored this pairing for a long time  
> >i tried to keep them in character so this turned out not so sappy

Peels of laughter ring in his ears, rippling with unfiltered mirth and riding on a high that has his breath catching in his throat. Johnny lowers his camera to watch in real time as Doyoung throws his head back without care for the stares they’re getting, too caught up in one of Yuta’s inappropriate, ill-timed jokes. He misses the shot by a heartbeat.

“Ya, Doyoung, you’re gonna get us blacklisted from this place too.” Yuta mumbles when Doyoung nearly knocks over his drink. 

“It would be the fifth place.” Johnny supplies, but his eyes haven't strayed from Doyoung’s face crinkled in amusement. He pulls the camera back up over his eye and takes a series of quick shots. 

Doyoung is quick to swat at the camera, “Let me live a little Suh.” 

“Not if I can help it.” Johnny surmises then sneaks a shot of the right side of Doyoung’s face just to be petty. He barely dodges the fist Doyoung swings in his direction and Yuta quickly secures their wobbling table just as someone calls them out for the noise.

“Bastard.” Doyoung spits out but there’s no mistaking the upward curve of his lips.

  
  


—

  
  


Yuta’s bright, bleached blonde hair is stark against the birchwood backdrop of the restaurant they followed him into. Doyoung’s lanky figure looks even smaller in the oversized hoodie he’s wearing and Johnny loses himself in a thought he would normally not entertain if not for the boring ass music blaring from the cheap speakers. 

“What?” Doyoung snaps when he catches Johnny’s gaze. He looks miffed, wrinkling his nose for added effect, and it’s consistent with his reaction every time Johnny so much as breathes in his direction. 

“Did you get that hoodie from the thrift store? It doesn’t even fit you.”

“Thrift—? You ass this is Yuta’s!” He hisses, cheeks dusted red. Johnny bites back the smirk he feels coming. 

“That can’t be Yuta’s either. He’s smaller than you.”

“I think it’s his boyfriend’s. Or he got it from somewhere else, I don’t know.” 

He leans back against the cushioned seat, bemoaning the fact that the backrest only comes up to the small of his back, before finally admitting. “It’s mine.”

“What…“ 

“He borrowed it from me, forgot to return it and at some point claimed it as his.” 

Doyoung bares his smaller than average teeth and he’s pretty sure Doyoung must think he derives some sick pleasure from constantly riling him up and he’s not going to bother correcting the notion. Also, Doyoung’s pretty funny when he’s steaming from his ears and unable to come up with a sufficiently foul rebuttal.

“And he left it in my place a couple of months ago so technically, it’s mine now.” 

“I—Yuta’s on the move!” They both snap into action but even Johnny’s impressive reach and the beacon that is Yuta’s strawberry blonde hair aren’t enough to keep track of him in a moving crowd. The heels of his boots clank against the floor as he ducks between people and Doyoung follows his lead with a hand on his jacket’s sleeve, which later moves down his wrist.

“Damn it, we lost him.” He says with finality after circling the buffet table twice. There are two entrance doors and there’s a basement with a bar where another door leads back to the shopping mall and Yuta’s naturally swift as much as he’s cagey.

“This is your fault.” Doyoung hisses, the sleeve of Johnny’s jacket bunched up under his hold.

“Not gonna argue with that one.” He says and feels Doyoung squeezing his wrist in time with the rhythmic tapping of his feet.

  
  


—

  
  


_“You could have been a little more low-key.”_ Yuta scolds over the phone the same evening, just a few minutes after Johnny drops Doyoung off at his apartment. There’s no real heat to his words, on the contrary, he sounds amused.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

 _“Doyoung is wearing a giant red hoodie. My hoodie. Of course I was going to see you.”_ Johnny almost curses under his breath before he remembers he’s still on the line and still very much trying to keep up a farce.

“You mean _my_ hoodie?”

 _“You never asked for it back, so it’s mine.”_ Not according to Doyoung’s logic, but Johnny only clicks his tongue to show his disagreement and hopes it’s enough to distract Yuta from the topic and it works, but the direction it takes is not entirely better.

 _“I’m fine. We’re fine. Really, he’s willing to change for me.”_ the younger man continues softly, perhaps sensing the barrage of questions dancing on the tip of Johnny’s tongue. He doesn’t want Yuta to stop trusting them but he also doesn’t like the thought of him hurting alone. _“Besides, I think there are more important things you should be worried about, other than my love life.”_

And he’s right, because even now he can still feel the shape of nimble fingers around his wrist, and the mix of sandalwood and cardamom that’s uniquely Doyoung is stuck on his clothes.

“Not sure what you mean.” Instead he denies with a little more vehemence that he initially intended.

  
  


—

  
  


“Your breath stinks.” 

Johnny feels a kick to his side for his effort but he doesn’t budge from his place on the couch, not with his feet firmly planted on the carpet.

“And who told you to come here so early?” Grunts a sleepy Doyoung, his eyes opening a crack so he can level Johnny with the most menacing glare he’s capable of while his disbelieved hair and stretched out t-shirt does the exact opposite of intimidate.

“My wifi isn’t working.”

“That’s why you need to pay your bills on time.” 

“I do pay my bills, It’s that damn cafe under my apartment that’s messing up my connection.” 

Doyoung gives him a blank look as if to say _‘you live in Seoul, having bad wifi should never be an excuse’_ and instead flops back on the other end of the couch where he insists to push his feet against Johnny’s side to either drive him away or just annoy him. 

“How are you even allowed to do remote work when you don’t have a stable wifi connection at home.” 

Johnny wiggles his fingers like he’s explaining to a toddler, “I have my ways.” And then yelps when Doyoung’s next kick nearly sends his laptop toppling to the floor.

“One of these days I’m gonna change my lock and you won’t be able to sneak in again while I’m asleep.” 

He acknowledges the threat with a chuckle because he knows Doyoung will never make good on that promise, just like how he never wavers with Johnny’s bullshit.

—

Once is a fluke, twice is lucky and three times is a streak. 

The original context has been lost along the way but Johnny’s pretty sure it perfectly captures the essence of Yuta’s two-year-long on and off relationship. If he can go back in time he would stop his friend from attending that community centre workshop on a whim, stop him from exchanging numbers with that suspiciously charming boy with strong eyebrows and tattooed arms.

But he can’t, and he recognises that Yuta doesn’t need _‘fixing’_. He needs to break free from the endless loop of false hopes and heartbreak and no amount of haranguing from either Doyoung or Johnny will push him towards that goal.

“Here you go.” He snaps out of his reverie when Doyoung nudges the cup of iced coffee against his hand and the shock of cold prickles his skin. The younger man stares down at the latte art brimming over his own cup pensively and asks in a quiet voice,

“What were you thinking of?”

Johnny studies his eyes, sharp and perceptive, his small and narrow face framed by dark, permed hair. None of his features stand out nor are they any more special than Johnny’s own but he can’t stop looking at them. Can’t stop tracing those lips with his eyes. 

“That relationships are messy. I don’t know why people bother.” He lets his words cut deep and tries to ignore the way Doyoung’s eyes stray towards the windows.

Later, Doyoung gives him an uneasy smile and he sees it, one of the few things that make Johnny’s heart tremble in his ribcage; the look of quiet acquiescence, of deadened acceptance.

—

Doyoung fits into his world like he’s been perfectly cut into the shape of the hollowness Johnny has carried for years. He slips into every crevice and blends into all his existing colours long before Johnny realises how deeply he’s rooted.

It’s the spare toothbrush he keeps in Johnny’s bathroom, the spare pillowcases he bought that have never seen an entire week without being used, the almond milk in his fridge because Doyoung is lactose intolerant and can’t take normal milk with his cereal, and the 5000 won cactus Doyoung got from the supermarket that Johnny has been tasked to keep alive. 

It’s all the small, inconsequential things, but they scare Johnny all the same. It’s kind of stupid, he thinks, to be afraid of Doyoung of all people.

Is this how it’s like to be at home with someone? To find belongingness with another person? He asks himself as he scrolls through years worth of stolen pictures with Doyoung’s face in varying degrees of unpreparedness. His thoughts are interrupted by the gentle pattering of feet.

“You look creepy, knock it off.” Yuta snipes when he emerges from Johnny’s bathroom and catches the tiny little smile he doesn’t manage to smother in time. He bites his lip and closes the window in case Yuta decides to peek, he’s definitely not above that.

“I’m watching tiktok videos.”

Yuta gives him a funny look, “You don’t even have a tiktok account.”

“How are you so sure about that?”

“Because you’re allergic to stupid.” He deadpans and skips to the TV console to grab the PS5 controller. He’s not big on gaming himself but he enjoys watching Yuta and Doyoung settle petty arguments over NBA so it’s all worth the money.

“Good point.” he dismisses Yuta’s concerned gaze and sets a password for the folder.

  
  


—

Johnny’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with the information Doyoung bombards him with during a late night visit. All he knows is that his chest feels a little tight and his mind is in a heightened state of denial. There’s absolutely no reason to be jealous, Doyoung deserves to be happy, even if that means being in a healthy, committed relationship with someone (decidedly not Johnny) who shares the same outlook in life.

“How old is he?” He feigns indifference but he knows Doyoung can see through his mask because he looks apologetic, regretful, and it’s terrible because moving on with your life is nothing to be sorry about.

“Same age as you, maybe just a few months older than Yuta.”

“And what does he do?”

“A freelance digital artist. I think you’ll get along quite well since he’s in the same field.” Johnny licks his lips and does his best not to break character.

“That’s good. At least you’d stop whining about the lack of excitement in your life.” Doyoung’s expression shifts and Johnny is thankful because he looks less somber and more affronted. It’s typical Doyoung, and that he can handle.

“My life is plenty exciting, thank you very much.” He looks thoughtful for a second and Johnny half expects him to say something they’ll both regret but instead he quietly adds, “I hope you’ll find what you’re looking for too.”

—

He’s not stupid, he knows what he has with Doyoung is special, that there’s nothing quite like it and that all of it is bound to change with Taeyong’s arrival.

“When’s the last time you got laid?” Yuta blurts out with little regard for the people around them. The cafe is small and the spaces between the tables are even smaller, but Johnny is unfazed, used to his friend’s unfiltered approach.

“Since when did you care about my sex life?” He chuckles, cutting into a small slice of cheesecake. Doyoung’s favourite.

“Since you started snapping over the smallest things.” Johnny tries to recall the few times he’s been short with Yuta and realises with a sinking feeling that the intervals have been closer than usual. In his efforts to keep his emotions in check, he manages to be the kind of person he hates.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with that.” He says softly, apologetically, and it’s a fair rebuttal because it’s only been a week since his last hookup. He doesn’t recall the guy’s face but he has his number saved on his phone.

Yuta is gnawing on his lips like he’s not sure if he should voice out his next thoughts and that’s never a good sign, so Johnny interrupts him before he can open his mouth, “And what about you? How are you and-?”

The younger man instantly looks morose, “We had another fight last night. Honestly? I’m not sure I still want this.” Johnny studies his face with a gaping emptiness in his belly, wondering if this puts both of them in the same position.

The cheerful sound of the door chime pulls their attention towards the entrance of the cafe, to the man walking behind Doyoung, the one whose name is permanently on Doyoung’s mouth and Johnny’s mind. 

Taeyong is beautiful, all refined edges and standout features, big eyes, a deep scar next to one of them, thin lips and bold choice of clothes. He’s the exact opposite of Doyoung whose beauty flirts between inconspicuous and unsorted, whose simplicity has lulled Johnny into calm complacency.

It’s not jealousy he feels when Taeyong sits down with them and pulls Doyoung next to him with a possessive, needy glint in his eyes. It’s resignation and a dawning acceptance that settles into his bones like lead.

“Wow, you’re really handsome.” Yuta speaks first, his voice is a mere buzz over the ringing in Johnny’s ears and he at least manages a small smile when Taeyong chances a glance in his direction, his cheeks pink from the unexpected compliment.

“You’re so nice. Thanks for coming to meet me.” It’s easier to demonise a faceless man than one whose excessive politeness is almost criminal. Johnny kind of regrets meeting him because he seems like a genuinely good person, but this is his obligation to Doyoung.

So he pushes the weightless ache at the back of his mind and forces a grin that stretches across the span of his face. “Nice to meet you, Taeyong. Please take care of our Doyoung.”

—

Four months and two weeks later, Doyoung and Taeyong break up. It’s an amicable split that’s been brewing on the surface since the fourth time they saw Taeyong at Doyoung’s. Somehow, the two of them manage to remain on friendly terms.

Yuta says he’s seen it coming long before there were signs but it stuns Johnny more than the actual parties involved, and he thinks it’s because he’s convinced himself that they were perfect for each other, that all their rough and smooth edges were made to fall seamlessly together.

“It doesn’t matter how compatible you are. Sometimes it just happens.” Yuta comments in an offhand manner when Doyoung first breaks the news but he’s the first to pull him into a hug. Between the three of them, Yuta has every room to talk while Johnny takes a backseat, letting his questions coil tightly inside him.

“We agreed we’re just better off being friends.” Doyoung says, and he looks at peace. Like he always does. No hint of bitterness, not a drop of tear, like there’s mercy to be had in heartbreak. Johnny wonders if this is how he sounds like to Doyoung too,

_‘I don’t do relationships.’_

_‘We’re better off as friends’_

_‘It’s not for me’_

And wonders if every line are layers of contradictions, if the words are the shield above his core that trembles with inconceivable yearning.

Doyoung must’ve sensed the growing disquiet because he catches his gaze and holds it, and for a long moment they forget about Yuta who eventually decides to give them space, retreating to Doyoung’s kitchen under the guise of getting more beer.

“What was the real reason?” Johnny adjusts his position on the couch so he’s facing away from Doyoung. He’s pretty sure Yuta’s eavesdropping because he won’t purposely miss a moment like this.

“It’s not fair for him.” and softly he adds, “and I don’t think it’s good for me either, to keep pretending.”

It takes only two sentences to draw the ache back to the surface, and it burns hot under Johnny’s skin, so painfully real that it’s all he can focus on.

—

It’s by Johnny’s own accord when he heads to Yuta’s over the weekend instead of Doyoung’s—a tactic for evasion he made consciously—so he has no one to blame but himself when he stumbles on the younger man nursing a can of beer before breakfast, on a perfectly good Saturday morning.

“Isn’t it too early to be drunk?” 

Yuta twiddles with a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt after sparing Johnny a brief glance, “I’m not drunk. I can tell you how many buttons your sweater has.” 

Johnny looks down at his _cardigan_ and notes the single button that survived a washer mishap and lets out an exasperated breath.

“I thought I was coming here to watch a new series with you, not babysit your drunk ass.”

“You can call Doyoung over, at least I don’t have to keep your—“ he gives Johnny a once over, nose crinkled in distaste, “overgrown ass company.” and settles with the halfhearted insult before clambering back to bed with the beer still clutched in his hand. 

He pulls the duvet over his head and Johnny’s surprised he hasn’t spilled any beer on his sheets yet.

He sits next to him and pats the lump under the covers, pretending not to hear the sniffles, pretending his heart isn’t breaking for Yuta. It’s unfair, he thinks, how someone so wonderfully thoughtful and honest could have such terrible luck with people.

“It’s gonna be fine, you know.” He offers, “he’s not the last guy on earth.” 

Yuta pokes his head out and he looks more of a mess than when Johnny first walked into the door. Breakups have that effect, and that’s why Johnny will never subject himself to something so incorrigibly tumultuous, and it’s something that has never wavered even after his heart settles in a place he has never expected.

He hands Johnny the half-empty can of beer and then says just as Johnny takes a swig from it, “But it still hurts like a bitch. Is this why you would rather not confess to Doyoung?”

“What are you talking about?” Johnny manages to wheeze out. It’s easy to forget that Yuta’s insufferably observant at the most convenient opportunities. 

“You and Doyoung. How long do you plan to keep this up?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” He feigns interest in the foreign characters at the bottom of the can and distracts himself with the question of how many cans of Sapporo beer Yuta keeps in his cupboards.

Yuta hums condescendingly and it feels biting coming from him. Johnny doesn’t know how he managed to turn the conversation around and make it about Johnny but he has that kind of latent talent.

“Out with it John, we both know you never had any trouble with your wifi.”

Johnny crosses his arms over his chest defensively after depositing the beer on the nightstand, “I do too.”

“Please,” his younger friend groans in exaggeration then winces because surely an empty stomach and beer are bound to give one a headache, “you were practically dating but you let him be in a relationship with Taeyong. How does that make any sense?” 

“I don’t know, you tell me.” It appears that that’s the wrong thing to say because Yuta’s face falls and he attempts to smother himself on a nearby pillow.

“I don’t know either. I’m bad at relationships, remember?” His muffled response brings a small smile to Johnny’s lips.

“You’re not.” he says firmly, “He just doesn’t know how to handle your intricacies.” 

Yuta lifts his face from the pillow and gives him a perfunctory eye roll through a mess of greasy blonde hair, “You and your flowery words.” Yuta is not the type to thrive off physical proximity, but he humours Johnny’s attempt at an awkward, half-hug. 

“Also, I’m pretty sure Doyoung knows your wifi is perfectly fine.” He adds when he nestles back into the duvet, watching Johnny’s face closely for any sign of an afterthought. 

There’s none, because contrary to Yuta’s assumptions, there are no secrets between him and Doyoung. There are only half meant truths and unspoken understandings.

“I’m not cut out for relationships Yuta.” He repeats, a little somber. A little bit regretful.

“And you don’t have to be, I’m pretty sure he’ll have you however way.”

—

Doyoung’s apartment is smaller than Yuta’s but it never feels that way whenever Johnny lowers himself on the 2-year-old faux leather couch that’s begun to crack and peel in the corners or when he leans over the small sink to wash the dishes in exchange for Doyoung’s homemade food. It may be the lack of clutter, or it’s just the way Doyoung has managed to influence him into thinking there’s more space between them than there actually is. 

It’s routine at this point; heading to Doyoung’s after work in his sweats and an old t-shirt, bearing a bag of Chinese takeaway to compensate for the same bad wifi excuse he’s been using for years.

The door opens before Johnny can turn the key in the lock, like Doyoung has been expecting him even before he made the conscious decision to go. 

“Let me guess, bad connection?”

Johnny lets a smile dance on his lips. Everything with Doyoung is easy, he eases the tension from his shoulders and makes the world a lot less stifling. 

“Who would've thought?” They share a small, seemingly insignificant moment of stuttering silence that Doyoung breaks by inviting him in, like Johnny ever needed an invitation. 

“I haven’t been here since-” His words roll into a stop. _Since you broke up with Taeyong_ , is what he wants to say. Doyoung nods wispily and leads the way inside, unfazed. At least that makes one of them.

“Should we heat it up or?” The question almost startles him before he’s reminded of the weight hooked on his fingers. Doyoung takes the food away before he can offer his suggestion. Johnny stalls long enough that the smell of food has begun to waft towards him before he makes the effort to follow Doyoung into the kitchen.

“It’s unlike you to be lost for words.” Doyoung starts without looking at him and Johnny busies himself with the box of green tea Doyoung keeps on the counter.

“Would you rather I act like how I normally do?” He poses the question as cautiously as possible. It’s easy to fall back into the habit of evasion, but he’s come to accept that not everything goes away when you ignore it long enough. Like his feelings for Doyoung. 

Like Doyoung’s unspoken reciprocation.

“No. I don’t.” The younger man’s voice grows quieter. He doesn't get the chance to take the food out of the microwave because Johnny’s stepping into his space in tentative strides, crowding him against the counter until all Johnny can see is the straight line of Doyoung’s nose and the swell of his bottom lip.

“I need to know if you’re okay with this.” It comes out as a statement rather than a question and Johnny is in the process of correcting himself when Doyoung pushes on his tiptoes, bumping their noses together and pressing his lips firmly against Johnny’s. 

It’s clumsy and hesitant, but what it’s not is lacking. Johnny’s arm automatically circles his narrow waist and they’re so close he can feel the staccato of Doyoung’s heartbeat and smell the muskiness of his perfume on _him_ , not the mere echo of it on Johnny’s clothes.

There are no fireworks going off behind his eyelids, no electricity coursing through his veins, but there is Doyoung, warm and palpable in Johnny’s hold. There will always be Doyoung, and that _is_ enough.

Johnny licks his lips when Doyoung pulls back with a dazed look, “I don’t care if we can’t be like everyone else. I just want you.” he finally says, cutting straight to the point. This is one thing Doyoung’s always been better than Johnny at.

“And what if you change your mind?”

“We’ll figure it out when it happens, but for now, kiss me.”

Him and Doyoung are far from compatible—they bicker a lot, they argue over the most trivial things; Johnny likes his coffee sweet and Doyoung likes his without sugar, Johnny is a man of passion whilst Doyoung is a person of routine—and there’s really no guarantee that things will work out, that Doyoung will not regret falling for a man who rejects the very definition of commitment.

But this time, Johnny allows himself to try, this time, he doesn’t pretend like he didn’t dream of this for years when he pulls Doyoung by the hips and dips his head down to swallow his gasp of surprise and his whisper of love.

Because he’ll take happiness in all its forms, be it short-lived or enduring, as long as it’s with Doyoung.

—

“Are you sure he’s not a serial killer?” Johnny says over the sound of traffic. One can argue that he’s being a creep, staring down Yuta’s new boyfriend through the cafe window without much thoughts about first impressions. “He looks too handsome to be an ordinary, law-abiding citizen.”

Doyung pulls him to the door before the guy notices a 6-foot-tall man engaging him in a one sided staring contest. He only follows Doyoung’s lead because there are only eight cafes in Seoul where they haven’t been banned yet and he doesn’t want to narrow down the numbers further.

“Don’t be an ass, Jaehyun’s very nice. Nicer than both of you.” Yuta counters, the plains of his cheeks glowing in happiness. Johnny doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen Yuta this giddy or carefree and the image leaves his chest feeling lighter than ever. 

“That’s rude.” Doyoung says with an unconscious pout and Johnny has to put a firm grip on the urge to kiss him in public. Eight cafes left, he reminds himself.

“No, that sweater is rude. Did you get that from Johnny’s closet?” Yuta points an accusatory finger at the worn out fleece sweater hanging off Doyoung’s frame with most of the fiber missing from the sleeves.

“Hey! You think I would wear that?” He scoffs and gets pinched in the arm before he can finish. The lady in front holds the door open for them and Yuta spears through the small crowd towards the fair-skinned man with wild hair, in a simple plaid shirt.

The Jaehyun guy looks up when they crowd around his table and Johnny feels a bit like a bully when he dials up his intimidation tactics while Doyoung introduces himself to the unsuspecting guy like a normal person.

“H-hi.” Jaehyun stutters out as Yuta pushes Johnny to sit, afraid they’ll have one of the employees call for the police out of misunderstanding.

“Johnny, quit it.” Yuta hisses as Jaehyun laces their fingers together over the table. He has guts, Johnny will give him that, and also, he might be the first boyfriend who doesn’t mind affectionate displays because he’s rhythmically squeezing Yuta’s hand while Yuta smooths his stubborn hair down. 

The two of them share a secret smile and Johnny is struck by how naturally they seem to meld together by the way Yuta’s eyes twinkle and by how deep Jaehyun’s dimples sink just from the sight of Yuta’s stupid face.

“I hope you’re not planning to stare into each other’s eyes throughout lunch.” 

He says and barely registers Yuta’s flustered sputtering because Doyoung’s nudging his knee against his. There’s a smile, wide and knowing and directed at him only, on Doyoung’s face when he twists to his right. 

Johnny’s breath gets stuck in his throat at the pink gums that peek from behind lips that he knows are sticky with chapstick, and the fondness that’s punctuated by the crinkling of Doyoung’s sharp eyes. He supposes the two of them are not any better.

Silently, he fishes his phone out from his back pocket and sneakily captures the first quake of Doyoung’s laughter.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> how is it? let me know your thoughts *u*


End file.
